“Hello? Bloody hell, it’s about time you noticed my words to you!”
“Oh no…no, no, no…,” she sighed, “not again, please I beg of you…not here. Not on this beautiful October’s day, please do not contaminate my thoughts with your prescence.”
All at once her beautiful notings of the wind, the sun and sky, of everything…were hazed. The glorious detail that once smothered every thing that surrounded her had whithered. The wind now felt cold and hollow as it slid across her skin.
“Ah, but sweet darling of mine…the work has already been done. Your attention has been grabbed with the minor strength of my whispers, you can not help but to listen, to focus on me. Now listen to me, sweet darling…,” The voice had taunted, growing louder with every breath that escaped her lips.
“Refuse…I must refuse…” The girl had pleaded with herself, “I musn’t listen to you, for you are every thing that is evil. Your words never cease to capture and deteriate my mind. I refuse…Today will be a good day.”
Quiet and out of breath, she began to count. 1, 2, 3, 4. What do these numbers represent you might ask? Her breath’s of course. One by one, she counted her exhale’s as if they were her last.
But it was useless, all of this matter just to push out a single whisper, a single voice that never seemed to die down. Panic consumed her, she must do something. In desperate need for a distraction, she let her eyelids close as she ran with the wind. At once she was moving blissfully at the same pace with the leaves. For this moment the birds melodies had died off, for all she could hear was the winds whisper’s so peaceful in her ear. One by one she counted her footsteps as if they were her last.
When almost out of breath, she finally stopped in her tracks and opened her eyes to the new beauty of everything. Oh- how her surroundings had shifted! For these few seconds she was overwhelmed by every small, intricate detail that made up this complex world.
Chills began to make their way from her chest to her toes and back around. Before she knew it, her knees hit the concrete unexpected. This beauty had knocked her down in astonishment. Finally, a distraction. Something to keep the voice from re-acurring…But the more she prayed for it to never come again, it only came back stronger.
With a sudden tremble of her fingertips, the whispers had grown into casual chit-chat,
“How dare you try and rid me from your sweet, never-ending mind! The wonders of your thoughts are glorious to me, I shall never leave. Your distractions will only distract you for a period of time. I am always here, I am never-ending. I absolutely refuse to swim with any other thoughts than yours, my Autumn, my wonderous child…”
Slowly Autumn’s bones had become brittle and weak with the realization that she would be the death of herself. Her head swung down as she studied the tiny, little markings in the concrete, once again overwhelmed by the smallest of details. But this was no distraction, only pure interest. Gently she traced the bolder cracks of the sidewalk, following it’s never-ending maze…& to think! That the concrete she was gently examining had been walked on, completely un-noticed by millions. The thought of this brought her to tears. One by one she began to count the tiny droplets that fell from her ivory skin as if they were her last.
For these moments she had felt frozen in place, but her mind continued to live, to move onward.
“Forever my mind shall live…Forever,” she whispered half-heartedly to herself. “For too long I have let you capture the best of my thoughts, for too long I have let you take over…Now is the end,” Autumn quietly murmered to herself.
And although her words came out just as quiet whispers and illegible murmurs, her heart meant it with every thing she had left.
“For too long you, foul monster you…Have stripped me of my sanity.”
Broken, shattered lie the voice in the back of her head, now slowly diminishing. The sunset s
pretty good writing for 14? lol

The haze around the city was perfect. Dull grey buildings blended into the sky as gentle rain fell, clouding my vision that much more. It was almost as if seeing in black and white with a few shades of grey. Lighting flashed behind me, brightening up the sky for a split second before returning back to its flat tone. Through the fog, a Harpy Eagle flew down the alley way where I was standing and landed on a dumpster opposite me. Its eyes pierced into mine for a few seconds before it ducked its head down once and then held its wings open, spread wide. They were a good two metres in span, but I wasn’t intimidated. From this, a single crow flew down and stood behind the Eagle on the dumpster. Then another. And another. Soon, the alley way was full of the black, feathered birds said to be an Omen, but not a single noise came from anything. Not the rain, not the birds, not my breathing. Then…

“It’s time.” I smirked as I pulled my shirt over my head, ditching it on the stained ground near my bare feet. The Eagle wailed once which sent the crows into a fury, shrieking out war cries as I started walking out of the dreary alley. When I reached the end, standing on an abandoned street, the birds took flight as I jogged off, them behind me. Every now and then the Eagle would fly just ahead of me as if showing me where I needed to go, but I knew. Of course I knew. When my feet began to speed up and take me to an entrance to a subway, the birds gave one last final screech and flew forward as I lunged down the concrete stairs. In mid jump, my bones crunched to another shape, breaking and twisting to fit my new body. Burning pained my body, but it soon faded. As I landed at the bottom of the subway on four paws, I knew that it was all up to me. Me. The last King Cheetah of my Tribe. The other Cheetah’s had been caught months ago along with our Bears, Dogs and Rabbits.

(“King, you read me?”) A voice asked in my mind.

(“Yeah, I hear you, Harpy.”) I kept a steady pace as I ran through an empty tunnel, kicking up dust and rubbish as I did so. My friend suddenly shot up higher in the sky and I heard their voice get more distant from me. (“All transport down here is dead. No Lab Rats from what I can see, but there’s a trace of blood. I can smell it.”)

(“The fights already begun, King. Don’t think we’re going to be the first to attack. You’ve been unconscious for three days, I’m surprised you could even Change. Take it from me, ok? Know your limits. I’ve got twenty years under my belt as a Beast. You only have one year.”) The way Harpy spoke, I knew he was taking his place as Chief as serious as possible. As I rounded a corner and jumped onto the tracks, my fur stood up on end.

(“I’m close.”) My legs pushed me forward, fuelled with adrenaline, but not once did I falter. My tail kept me balance as another sharp corner came into view. Grey blurred past me swiftly, but I saw everything as clearly as if I were walking. (“Meet you at the lab, Harpy. I got something to do.”)

(“King, listen to me! You can’t just go and destroy everyth-”) Too late. My slim body squeezed past a broken down train and I put my barriers up, blocking out my airborne friend from my mind. After thirty seconds or so, I slowed to a walk and glared at a bloody door. Red hand prints dragged down the wood and hatred took over everything inside of me.
(“Showtime!”)

So, how did that go?
Did it make sense at all?
Would you continue reading if there was more?
Thanks guys!

Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.

Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.

He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.

Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.

He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!

He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.

The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.

He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.

I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.

He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.

P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.

The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.

Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.

But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.

Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.

He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.

Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.

He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!

It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.

The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.

The king was titanic. The queen was of beauty.
The evil king was stumbling down his small palace again. He most be drunk. The knight quivered you could smell his alcohol before you seen him. A stench that echoed thorough the castle hall.
The king hated the knight for his skin. It was born the wrong color so the knight thought. The Queen for some odd reason was thrilled when the king was home.

The king grab the belt had it slice throw the air. Onto the skin he despised. Making his already black skin turn darker. The queen doing her status quo acting like nothing happening. The Queen pretended the house was of quarrel she could not hear him screech. But deep down inside she knew. He knew too, he was just a bad boy.
The knight grab his tears painted the walls on the castle so some one would know he was there. He look out the window wonder if the stars could catch his cries for help. If his thoughts wo

Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.

Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.

He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.

Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.

He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!

He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.

The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.

He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.

I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.

He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.

P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.

The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.

Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.

But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.

Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.

He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.

Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.

He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!

It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.

The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.

Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.

Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.

He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.

Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.

He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!

He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.

The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.

He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.

I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.

He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.

P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.

The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.

Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.

But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.

Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.

He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.

Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.

He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!

It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.

The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.

Cheap hugging b… ! Stupid tree-hugging losers who want him to save the world.

Lights – ever heard of lights? He muttered with the scar on his upper lip bouncing against his pronounced nose. With his hair darker than his black eyes, gently rubbing his snotty nose, he gazed out the ocean as the waves combed the shore. It sounded like a lullaby; as the waves gently hit the rocks like drumsticks against a drum.

He chuckled uncontrollably like hiccuping, thinking of how in grade school they used to say ‘friends before money’.

Money bought him this nice prison cell, this 4×10 prison cell overlooking the massive ocean which looked like dark oil.

He thought about Patrice; how he was the most important person in her life. She was The Chosen One, she loved him so much she died for him – what an exulted thing she committed!

He thought about her in that white dress, the way her eyes reflected like a knife, their shade so pale that tears that were falling were the same color as her eyes. Mimicking his heartbeats, not a beat out of rhythm.

The light went out, nothing left to see now but the stars trapped in the sky. He was just as strapped in as the stars. Tomorrow was the day to brake out, tell the world what he really was! Fame, fame, fame – newspapers will be printing, bigger than any famous stuck-up, no-good loser. (jejune) characters that are going to wish they were him.

He looked down at his concrete whole, for the first time after escaping. Going to be that no good, cop that was jealous of his fame, who got him in this mess in the first place! He put his painting back to the whole when he heard the words starting.

I-I-I wa…w-want a cigarette! hey ! -the voice stuttered, as if an earthquake was in his voice.

He looked over to find a young 19-year-old Jim there. He killed his parents for calling him ‘good old chubs’. The killer gazed at him, his stomach sunk into the bars as far as they went. Sections of fat rolled over the bars. Pure fat cells, just flapping as if it wanted to fly away. It was clear that nothing on this boy was capable of flying, or even clearly being able to lift past it’s gravity.

P-pa pa-a pap leas- Jim jeered, as if protesting.

The killer began singing, chanting in a voice ‘I shot the sheriff but I didnt shoot no deputy, oh no! oh!
I shot the sheriff, but I didnt shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh’.

Yeah! All around in my hometown,
They’re tryin’ to track me down;
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.

But I say ‘Have a cigarette! Chubs
in what little light there was to light up the room, the killer grabbed a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke.

Jim stared at him as if he were to do a trick, breaths quickening. He approached with his arms out, his stuttering turning to pronunciations a newborn could make. Then the killer’s eyes lit up like a candle with rage, remembering: ‘no distractions till then’.

He could feel his blood boil.. He wanted to compress his face into the bars. Make his skull into mash potatoes. Watch thin blood pour, to the floor. Same color as thin, crimson, Chianti wine.

Yet, this caged bird would sing again. Life outside the big house was looking to pulchritudinous.

He tossed the cigarette right after getting a whiff, the red light rolled across the floor and that was going to be him. He was going to roll away; no more gambling for cigarettes, it was real money now!

It made him think of the deadman’s hand, aces and 8s. They call it deadman’s hand because a man was killed for winning when a guy bet a lease on his house. Bam shot him, for having 8s and aces in his hand, back in cowboy times.

The cop that got him here was going to get dealt a deadman’s hand now.

diary:
It was a usual day, by date it was the Thanks-giving day in the West. I was swamped with my arduous work; my mind swimming with petty worries. It was a lonely day, a day so lonely that I could not even breathe, for the burden on my nerves.
I was not able to focus myself on my homework while mourning for the suffering. Time left for me was so limited, I was like a trapped wild beast, longing for the outside; yearning for a world that had been cut off from me for so long.
For the moment, I heard a strange word hovering around my ears: You deserver it.
I grabbed a slice of chocolate and put it into my mouth. With the sound of crushing, I filled my mind with the strange tastes of the bad chocolate and wish the sound could go away. I succeeded.
With tiny joy emerging in my mind, I made an attempt to shift my attention to the paper before me, but the images of the dead body and bloody mess still remains in me. I can stay at peace and champion justice but, with an impartial heart, this could only last for a short time. The memories cannot be wiped off; nor were they ever meant to be.
The voice came back over me again, 10 times louder, and 10 times powerful. This time by simply ignoring it can’t do the job.
The voice was demanding an answer. I grinned contemptuously.
“You will never get it.” This is the only reply I can offer.
Rain started falling. Despite short-sightedness, I always possessed a keen sense for the rain, so I could tell its existence without seeing it. I could always hear it no matter how weak or fragile its sound was.
On that day, my nose prevailed over my eyes again. As the arising excitement brought by the rain replaced the haunting and daunting voice hovering around me, I strode over to the window and opened it. Though I could not see the raindrops clearly, I knew they were beautiful. I hope this will not be just another shower. I hope it will stay long enough to wet all the ground and clear the polluted sky.
I don’t know why, but every time when I saw rain I deem it to be the sign of the coming of the end—–the end to everything; the end of the world. In my heart rain stands for purity.
I shut the screen but left the window open, so I would still be able to listen to the rain.
The homework was not hard for most people, but not for me. My brain seemed crippled and twisted by the continuous striking of the strange voice. I forgot to tell you as soon as I seated myself the voice appeared again.
I raised my body. Keep standing was just an effort I made to discern which direction the sound came from. While I stood up, some object on the window catched my eyes. It was a clow; a clow that was resting on the window of my book room. Nothing here seems more striking than this black bird; this tiny pitiful bird was seen as the messenger of misfortune for centuries. As a result, it’s quite understandable most people’s first reaction when seeing a crow is turning away. Rarely, I am an uncommon guy holding no prejudice against this tiny creature. So I decided not to interfere in the crow’s rest.
I had already given up my homework. I just sat in the chair, motionless, my blank eyes looking ahead. I heard another sound, a much more concrete one. I fixed my eyes on the crow, it was him that was making this sound.
Oh, it was trying to get in through the window; what a pitiful bird! I could tell from what I heard the rain was getting heavier. Now even my short-sighted eyes could clearly see the raindrops, they were so concentrated and so powerful.
It turned out that the little crow was seeking a shelter; a shelter that guards him from the heavy rain.
Should I let it in?

Thank you very much for your advice.
If I just want to write in this dramatic way? Could you please tell me if the grammars I use are correct and the sentence I structured are acceptable.
Thanks again.

“Captured from the Salazin Highlands, ladies and gentlemen I bring you a young and healthy frog-man. An armed and dangerous female, ladies and gentlemen this is one of the most toxic and deadly frog-mans we bring to you under this dome.”
The guards threw her to the concrete and she landed with a grunt. The guards kicked her side and turned to leave as the audience burst into wild cheers and jeering. She stood, knees knocking together, heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes searched the audience, looking for a sympathetic face, someone to come and save her. But all she saw was hatred, fury. Scowls met her bulging red eyes as she met their faces.
“It’s hideous!”
“Kill the frog!”
“Slaughter it!”
The announcer cleared his throat and motioned a hand towards a large steel door overlooking them all. “Ladies and gentlemen, what a better challenger for this deadly creature than one of the most powerful killers known to man? From the Vulkor desert, we have the most ferocious, blood thirsty, and deadliest of them all, a full grown Warlan!”
The cheers around Nal erupted to deafening roars as the metal door groaned. A shrill cry rose above the jeers, ringing in her ears. The audience fell silent as the steel doors rose and the shrill screams grew louder as the doors revealed the creature within.
Standing behind the door was a bird. Towering over, scales covered the mass of its body, spines lined the creature’s body. Powerful wings were folded at the great bird’s side and were covered with sharp black feathers tipped with red. A long clawed talon held the bloody corpse of a guard, his unfortunate intestines spilled out onto the dust. The bird glared at the audience, a long black tongue slipped in and out of its beak as it looked them over with hunger in its eye.
A wire cage came over the arena, containing the perimeter of the fighting area and covering the awed audience.
Nal found herself staring right into the hungry stare of the bird.
The bird spread its wings to full length and two guards clipped off its chains.
Nal uttered a prayer to the gods, a prayer of life.
The announcer threw his plum top hat from his ceiling box. “Let the fight begin!”
The Warlan lifted the dead guard into its gaping beak. There was a sickening crunch as it brought its beak onto the corpse. It swallowed hard and Nal could see a bulge traveling down its throat.
Two guards appeared at the bird’s side on horses, extending two sharpened spears at their side. They jabbed the beast in the side and the creature howled with pain, sweeping a pronged tail at the guards. The guards fell to the ground and the bird’s talons fell upon them and the fallen horses. The guards it swallowed with ease. The horses, the only animals it chose to spare had run back within the steel door, which closed slowly with groaning metal.
The bird stared straight at Nal again and growled softly.
Nal stepped back, scarcely breathing. Her heart was iron. Poison dripped from her neck glands, mingling with beads of sweat. If there was a chance for the gods to spare her, she hoped it would be now.
A shrill Warlan scream echoed around the dome. Head feathers burst around the bird’s head in a red war crown. The creature screamed once more and-
It ran straight for Nal.
The audience burst into cheering.
Dear gods save me now.
The bird was heading for her and for a horrible moment she could not move herself. Beak extending, sharp talons raising.
Dear gods save me now!
She felt metal on her hands, her feet had left the ground. She found herself clinging onto the steel dome cage, facing the jeering, horrible faces of the humans.
The bird snapped its head forward and Nal scrambled up the wall. Reeling as the beak hit the cage. A shriek of horror came from the crowd.
Her feet slipped off and she dangled with two blue hands gripped tight onto the mesh. She scrambled to throw her feet back onto the wire.
The Warlan growled again, its head dancing around Nal as she struggled. A black tongue slipped out of its beak.
“Stupid bird, kill the frog!”
“Kill it you damn bird!”
Nal had one foot on the mesh, the other was gravitating up to the metal. She got both legs onto the mesh and she climbed to the ceiling, hanging with all limbs. And she felt relieved for a moment, only for a moment. Her anxiety returned as the bird circled around, hissing. Waiting for the right moment.
A stone came reeling from the audience, hitting her in side. Her legs slipped from under her and she hung with slippery hands.
The tongue shot out of the bird